The Final Season
by KingofShallowynd
Summary: My take on season eight, all six episodes. Each episode will probably not be posted at once, but staggered out a bit into scenes. This is not what the show will actually end up being, of course. Just something I've concocted to follow season seven. I do not own Game of Thrones.
1. Chapter 1

A raven flew overheard. On any normal day, such a bird's incessant squawking would cause Edd Tollett to cringe, maybe even complain a little, but today there was no sound coming from it at all. It simply kept circling Castle Black, over and over. This, to Edd, was even more disconcerting than the usual ravens he encountered.

Jon Snow had given him a job to do – command the Wall, protect the North, wait for something to happen. That had been nearly two years ago; he hadn't seen Jon since. A letter had come at some point indicating that the bastard had succeeded in retaking his ancestral home at Winterfell and gotten himself crowned King of the North. Another letter had come later, telling tales of a Targaryen queen from across the sea invading the southern lands of Westeros. Things were going mad out there in the world, but Edd Tollett was stuck here on the edge of it. _Freezing my damn balls off._

The lift came down, carrying two watchmen. They stepped out and two more stepped in. The lift began creaking back up the icy Wall, back up to the top. Edd had men watching from above at all times now. Since that boy Bran Stark had arrived, nearly a year ago now, the Night's Watch had been on constant guard for attack. Not an attack from wildlings, of course. As winter tightened its gnarled, icy grip, Edd increasingly doubted there was a single living thing still out there north of the Wall.

He shuddered and went down the wooden steps into the courtyard. Nearly all the brothers were keeping watch up top or were within the castle, the day being as cold and windy as it was. Visibility was not the greatest.

Suddenly, from the gate connecting the castle to the kingsroad, there came a horn blast. Edd started and he turned his head up, to the brother at the horn. "MEN ON HORSES!" the man shouted. "OPEN THE GATE!" Edd commanded back.

The great wooden gate swung open with a great creaking, the doors complaining from lack of use as they came round wide. _Finally, a bit of variety in my day,_ Edd thought dourly. It was like to be bad news, if whoever it was had ridden all the way here in these conditions.

The horses came clopping through, whining from their journey. The riders stopped within the courtyard, and the gate closed behind them. Just five. Five, all dressed for winter in huge layers of furs.

The man at the front dismounted, and Edd saw who he was. Huge, flaming red beard, and a massive build. "Tormund?" he asked, in shock.

The wilding nodded, a grave, desperate look on his face. "This is Beric Dondarrion," he said gruffly, pointing to the other rider who had dismounted next to him. Edd's eyes widened as he took stock of this new person. The man had hair similar to Tormund's, but the length and colour were both more subdued. His face was sickly, and he wore a black patch on one eye.

"You've come from Eastwatch," Edd said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," the man called Beric Dondarrion answered. His voice was cracked and hoarse. "How many men do you have, here? How many horses?"

Edd paused for a moment. "Forty men, give or take," he told them. "Not enough horses."

"Not good. Shit." Tormund wiped snow off of his face, in an uncharacteristically vulnerable gesture. "We've got to go. We've got to leave. All of you, now."

"Wha…" Edd shook his head, confused. "What? Now? Why? Where?"

"South," Tormund answered. "Back to Winterfell." By then, a huge crowd of brothers of the Night's Watch had gathered around the visitors, and they were all listening.

"The army of the dead broke through at Eastwatch," broke in Beric Dondarrion. "We are the only survivors. They're here. Within the Seven Kingdoms. There is no time at all. They're marching south."

Whispers and conversation erupted all over the crowd of brothers, and Edd Tollett's nerves fired. He looked at Tormund, the one he knew, and saw it confirmed in his eyes. This was no lie. _It's begun. It's happening._

"I don't understand," Edd said aloud. "What do you want us to do? Loop around and fight them? If they're heading south, then…"

"No, no." Tormund shook his head, despairing. "You're all gonna die if you stay here; get that through your thick skull."

" _He_ is coming," Beric said. "Alone."

"What, you mean the bloody Night King?" Edd asked. "We can take him then, if he's coming alone. We've got enough men here to fight a walker."

The brothers behind him gave whoops of approval.

Tormund sighed in exasperation. "NO!" he shouted. "You still don't get it, he has a…"

A sour, awful cracking filled the air, and everyone covered the ears, grimacing. _What the…?_ Edd and several others turned, and looked up at the great, milky wall of ice. The thing that had stood as part of their lives for so many years.

It was cracking open. The great faults snaked their way down to the ground, branching out from a spot high up, sending spray of snow and ice out from where they formed.

And then, the Wall blew open.

Massive chunks of ice flew out in all directions. The lift structure collapsed and fell, shattering into thousands of wood pieces. Debris of all sorts rained down on Castle Black.

Beyond the great new gap formed in the structure, a massive shadow loomed, wings flapping through the biting wind as if they were cutting the very air apart.

"GET TO THE HORSES!" came a shout. Edd had no clue who it was, he never found out. "MOVE!"

Edd raced to the stable, fighting the wind that was picking up. A massive block of ice fell onto the Castle, crushing the walls like they were a child's toy. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, gods save me, no, no, no._

The dragon roared. It was the loudest thing Edd had ever heard, like his ears were catching fire. He was vaguely aware of brothers running out the gate, of Tormund and Beric getting back on their horses, of horses moving away, getting south as fast as possible. He found his horse and mounted.

 _There aren't enough for everyone,_ something in the back of his mind said. Meanwhile, the front of his mind was spouting out every swear word his old dad had ever taught him.

He slapped at the reins, and the horse picked up speed, catching up to the now-galloping group ahead of him. He briefly allowed himself to turn around and look.

The ruins of the castle grew smaller and smaller by the second. More horses were emerging from the gate, with riders on them fleeing south, but not many. The great, skeletal beast let out another roar, and this time, dazzling blue fire came with it, slashing across the rubble of the Wall and Castle Black, blowing everything in sight to smithereens.

As the group of survivors desperately fled away, the raven followed them.

And then Bran Stark awoke at the weirwood, gasping and out of breath. His worst fears had been confirmed. The endtimes had begun.


	2. Chapter 2

"Can we trust him?" Sansa Stark asked her sister, who was standing with her arms behind her back, off to the left. Arya nodded.

Sansa turned back to the well-built, dark-haired young man that was kneeling in front of her. "Rise, Gendry," she said, in what she hoped sounded like the voice of a lady. "You are now in our service."

Gendry stood, and with the formalities out of the way, Arya walked over and shook his hand. "It's good to see you again," she said, a twinkle in her eye. "Good to see you too," Gendry answered slowly. Seeing the Stark girl was the last thing he'd expected upon arriving at Winterfell. He had assumed she had gone off and gotten herself killed by the Hound all those years ago, but here she was by her sister's side, safe and sound…or as safe as anyone could be in these times.

"How would you like to serve us?" Sansa asked. "Or should I say, how _can_ you serve us?"

"I worked as a smith in Kings Landing," Gendry replied. "I can make weapons." Arya turned to her sister and nodded, to confirm this.

Sansa nodded. "Very well, then. With everything that's happening, we can always use extra hands in the forge."

A horn blast sounded from outside the room. Arya and Sansa looked at each other excitedly. "He's back!" Arya exclaimed.

The girls ran out of the room, and Gendry followed behind, confused.

Out on the castle walls, the day was mercifully clear, although snow was still piled up dozens of feet high. All over the courtyard, cries of "They're here!" and "Open the gates!" and "Get ready!" sounded off. Sansa and Arya ran out onto the southern wall, looking away to the open fields beyond Winterfell.

Gendry caught up to them. "Oh, she's coming along, has she?" he asked casually, looking up at the sky.

Sansa and Arya were speechless as they gazed at the wonder approaching their home.

Two massive dragons, silhouetted by the dull winter sun, were soaring through the sky. One was green, while the other was red and black. The flapping of their wings could be heard even from this distance.

Below, on the fields, a huge horde of horsemen was making its way towards the camps where the other northern lords had stationed their forces. "That'll be the Dothraki," Sansa commented. "There's so many of them…"

Many minutes later, as Daenerys Targaryen's forces settled into camps outside the walls, a group of riders made their way into the courtyard. "Where'd Arya go?" Sansa asked no one in particular, as the other northern lords joined her to greet their returning king.

Jon Snow dismounted at the front of the group, and Daenerys Targaryen did the same. Alongside her were her closest advisors, Missandei of Naath, Ser Jorah Mormont, and the dwarf Tyrion Lannister.. Along with Jon was his Hand, Ser Davos Seaworth, as well as Sandor Clegane and Brienne of Tarth.

"Welcome back, Your Grace," Lord Manderly said, and all the people in the courtyard took a knee.

"It's good to be back," Jon Snow said, breathing in the cold northern air. "Assemble in the hall. I have some announcements to make."

The northern lords and their top men moved to join the arriving group in the great hall. Jon sat down at his seat at the head table, with Sansa at his right side. Davos stood some ways beyond. Jorah Mormont, the Hound, and Brienne of Tarth stayed near the back of the room. Brienne gave Sansa a brief nod. Jorah kept his head down, knowing that any of the northmen here could recognize him as someone that had been banished by Eddard Stark all those years ago.

Daenerys Targaryen stood off to the left, flanked by Tyrion and Missandei, unsure of what to do. She looked at Jon worriedly. Jon gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. It had been a while since he'd smiled; he was a bit out of practice.

"Alright," he called, and his voice echoed through the hall, quieting any chatter that was going on. "As you may well know, since a raven was sent here ahead of time, I have made an alliance with Daenerys Targaryen. She has agreed to put her conflict in the south on hold to assist us in the war against the White Walkers."

"Thanks for the dragons!" came a yell from the back of the hall, and several men hooted in agreement. Daenerys smiled and blushed, despite herself, although Jon gave a cool look in the general direction of the voice. "Her Dothraki and Unsullied will be making their own camps outside the castle walls," he said.

"Now wait just a minute," Lord Glover called, standing up. "The Dothraki are savages. We can't have them making camp here, so close to our own men."

"The Dothraki are loyal to me," Daenerys said firmly. "They will do nothing that I forbid them from doing."

"That may be so," Glover said, returning her gaze with equal fury, "but how do _we_ know that _you_ are loyal to _us?"_

Jon stood. "That's quite enough," he said sharply. "The Targaryen forces _will_ help us fight the army of the dead, and they have nowhere else to stay but here."

"These dragons," the little lady Lyanna Mormont called testily, standing up and looking at Dany with narrowed eyes. "Can you control them?"

Dany looked back at the little girl, more shocked than anything. "I have worked for many years to ensure it so," she replied respectfully.

 _This isn't good,_ Jon thought. He still hadn't told his lords the news that he knew they would get _really_ angry about.

"I haven't just made an alliance with Queen Daenerys," Jon announced. "After the meeting in Kings Landing, Cersei Lannister has agreed to send forces north to assist us as well."

As expected, the room erupted in fury. Everyone began shouting at once. Davos stepped forward, and Sansa backed her chair up a little in surprise. Missandei slowly stepped behind Dany to hide a little, frightened. Tyrion looked down at the ground, exasperated.

"I should have known it!" Lord Cerwyn shouted. "She's got the little monster with her, after all!" he pointed right at Tyrion, who kept his face as neutral as possible.

"That's not quite reasonable," old Lord Manderly said, and part of the room shushed to listen to him. "Lord Tyrion is the one that poisoned Joffrey, if you remember. The same Joffrey that cut Ned's head off. And if the rumors are true, he shot Tywin Lannister with a crossbow. The same Tywin Lannister who orchestrated the Red Wedding, where my son was killed. This man may carry the name Lannister, but he is no enemy of ours."

"To me, it just sounds like he's an enemy of everyone," Lord Cerwyn shot back.

Tyrion hadn't poisoned Joffrey, of course, but he wasn't about to tell them that. "If I may," he said, speaking up. "My sister is quite temperamental, yes, but when we showed her the wight that we captured north of the Wall, even she could not argue with the situation."

Jon nodded. "What Lord Tyrion is trying to say," he said, "is that even to our old enemies, the dead are a danger, and they have recognized this."

"But I assume there was some sort of agreement made, here," Lord Glover said angrily. "Something about who gets the Iron Throne, and whatnot?" he glared at Daenerys. "We already know Cersei Lannister will not leave our free kingdom of the North alone. We have no idea what _this_ queen would do. It's all too sketchy for my liking."

"It doesn't matter," said a voice. "We're all going to die, anyway."

The entire room fell to a hush, and everyone turned to the back of the hall, where Bran Stark had appeared, rolling his wheelchair forward. "Any agreement made over who gets what kingdom, and who sits on what throne, will never come to fruition," he mumbled, his voice shaking.

Jon ran out in front of the table, unable to help himself. "Bran?" he called, with trepidation. He hadn't seen his little brother in years. "What are you talking abou…"

"I saw it," Bran interrupted, more loudly. His voice broke, and his eyes welled up. "The Wall is fallen. Eastwatch, Castle Black, and the Shadow Tower are destroyed. The army of the dead is within the North as we speak."

The room erupted again, not of anger, but of pure disbelief and shock. Whispers, shouts…complete chaos. Sansa stood and ran towards her brother. Daenerys took a step forward, towards the crowd. Tyrion went pale, as a dark thought entered his mind. _No…it couldn't be…_

"HOW?" Lord Glover shouted. "How did they break the wall down?"

"They didn't break it," Bran called, tears streaming down his face now. "They _b-b-burned_ it. The Night King…the Night King is riding on top of an…of an undead dragon."

The room erupted all over again.

Tyrion exhaled hard, his heart sinking. Daenerys stumbled and fell to the floor, and Jon instantly ran back to support her.

"Da…Dany?" Her face was pale, and she had started to shake. "I-I-It's V-V-Viserion…" she muttered, over and over again. "It's him, it's him, it's him, I know it…"

Jon held her in his arms, not caring who was watching. "He will pay for this." He took on a look of steely determination, but all Daenerys felt was empty. "He _will_ pay."

"I don't believe it!" Lord Cerwyn shouted. "This boy has never made an attempt to define his so-called powers! He's just seen a dream, that's all!"

Both Sansa Stark and Lady Mormont shot him such a glare that he cowered back and didn't speak any more.

"If they're past the Wall, then there's no time." Lord Glover stood. "You are still my king, Jon Snow. I will never forget that. But...we can't work with these enemies. With Targaryens, with Lannisters, with Dothraki. I refuse to do it. Not after everything they've done. We've waited here at Winterfell long enough. I'm taking my men home, to defend my own walls from the coming storm."

Jon looked at the floor dejectedly. "And you are within your right," he said, his voice tired.

Other men began standing up, announcing various things, but Jon heard none of it. "You're all dismissed," he shouted, still not looking up from the floor.

Slowly, the hall started to clear out. Sansa took out a cloth and wiped off Bran's face. The boy had calmed down a little, but his breathing was still shaky. "The survivors are headed here now," he said towards Jon. "A few of your old brothers and some of the wildlings. Lord Beric Dondarrion, as well."

"We need to speak more privately," Jon said, standing. "Sansa, Bran. Davos. Dany and I have something else we need to tell you."

Sansa was confused for a moment, but obliged. "Brienne!" she called towards the back of the room. The tall female warrior nodded and joined her, following Jon and the others further into the castle.

The Hound and Jorah took their leave along with the rest of the men, while Missandei seemed uncertain. Dany stared at her dully. "You want to go to the camp with Grey Worm, is that it?" she asked slowly, her voice despairing.

Missandei nodded sheepishly. "Go, then," Dany said. "Tyrion, you're with us."

Tyrion followed Dany, Bran, Sansa, Brienne, Jon, and Davos down the hallway, towards a more private room.

Brienne fell into step besides Sansa, who was pushing her brother's wheelchair along. "Lady Sansa," Brienne said, all business. "I saw it fit to leave Podrick on Dragonstone, where it's safer. The island is well held and far away from any conflict. Theon Greyjoy and the ironmen are there as well."

Sansa nodded. "That's fine with me."


	3. Chapter 3

Bronn took another sip of the ale, a fine enough brew if a little too weak for his taste. _I could use a woman, right about now,_ he thought, scanning the alehouse. Most, if not all, of the other patrons were Kingslanders, many of them with an ill-favored look. Everyone in the city had had an ill-favored look as of late, what with the queen's plans being completely unknown to anyone.

Ser Jamie had fled the city two months ago now, and the Iron Fleet had long since departed as well. Bronn had received no new orders, no call back to duty. What a grand old time he had been having.

The alehouse door flung open, and the room briefly went silent as everyone scanned the newcomers. The silence was quickly broken again, as all the patrons went back to their cups, the brief distraction over with. Bronn, however, recognized one of these people.

"Podrick Payne?" Bronn stood, barely believing his eyes. Sure enough, it was the boy, although he was nearly a man grown now. The last time they had met, it had been in this very city, at the great meeting between two queens and a king.

The boy had heard him, and nodded in recognition, walking over. He was flanked by several others; Bronn instantly recognized them as ironmen.

"We've been looking everywhere for you," Podrick said as he came up to Bronn's table and took a seat. A few of the islanders sat down as well, including one with sandy light brown hair and a funny-looking face.

"Seven hells, Pod," Bronn said. "How did you get into the city with all them gold cloaks swarming the walls?"

"Turns out ironmen are welcome here, now," the brown-haired one said, smiling sadly. He was only a little older than Pod. "We have my uncle to thank for that."

"This is Theon Greyjoy, by the way," Podrick whispered. "We've come from Dragonstone."

Bronn raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Have you lost all your sense, boy?" he snapped. "Look around you. You've come right into the belly of the beast."

Podrick shifted uncomfortably. He had something to ask of Bronn.

"Go on, lad, spit it out. All your years with me and the dwarf, we never did manage to get you to speak your mind."

Theon Greyjoy leaned forward. "Podrick here tells me you're quite the fighter. We need your sort, you see, for a rescue mission. Do you know your way around the Free Cities?"

Bronn was even more shocked at this. "Been over there a couple times, yeah," he said. "What's this mission, anyway?"

Theon swallowed, his mind filled with quiet determination. "Euron's gone. He took the fleet across the narrow sea; our scouts from the island fortress know that much. He took my sister with him. She is the rightful ruler of the Iron Islands. I…we need to rescue her, and kill my uncle. Whatever it takes."

Bronn stared at him. "No," he said shortly, shaking his head. "I'm already in enough trouble as it is. Years and years, I've been getting involved in the games of the high lords…well, it seems the queen has finally relieved me of that. Now that she leaves me alone, I'm staying out."

Theon sighed in dismay, but Podrick leaned further forward. "Cersei hasn't given you any new orders? Do you know where the Iron Fleet has gone, at least?"

Bronn shrugged. "Talk is, they've gone to Braavos."

Theon shook his head. "No. The fleet turned north at one point, yes, but they came back past, heading south towards Volantis. That was last week."

"And you've waited until now to act, is that it?" Bronn asked. "Listen, I'd be glad to help, but things are bad enough as is. Half the city is grumbling about Cersei, and the other half is rioting at her doorstep. To betray her now would be…"

"…Sensible," finished Podrick. Bronn looked at him in surprise.

Podrick flushed red, but then continued. "It seems she's already relieved you of duty. Come fight for the right side, Bronn. That's what I'm doing. This is the way."

Bronn paused.

Theon spoke again, trying a different angle. "There is reward in it. My uncle is a bit of a hoarder of treasures, along with everything else. He has all sorts stored away on his ships. Gold, jewels, rare artifacts…worth a lot."

Bronn sighed. "Well, since the lad seems so eager to have me…" he nodded at Podrick. "Fine."

Podrick made a sound of relief and joy, and Theon smiled. "I assume you have a ship?" Bronn asked.

Theon nodded. "Small, swift, and unmarked, showing no Targaryen banners."

Bronn stood. "Well, we'd best get sailing then, eh?"

…

When Cersei Lannister entered the small council chamber, Qyburn was already sitting down.

"Your Grace," he said, standing and bowing before taking his seat again. Cersei sat down at the end of the table, the Mountain moving silently to the corner of the room. The queen stared at her lone councilman emptily. "They should have been back by now," she said.

Qyburn inhaled nervously, and then spoke. "It seems the Golden Company was not in Braavos, but in Volantis, after fighting in a war between the Free Cities down south. Tyrosh, as well as…"

"I don't care which of the Free Cities it was," Cersei interrupted, her voice rising. "How long?"

"A month…?" Qyburn shrugged. "It will take some time to load the army onto the ships. They have elephants as well."

"I know they have elephants," the queen snapped. "What of our southern allies?"

"Lady Tarly now rules the Reach, until she can remarry and produce a new male heir," Qyburn said. "She is most eager to join your side, since her husband and son were burned by the dragon."

"And Dorne?"

"We shall need to find a house to rule that is loyal to us. House Dayne would be a good choice, but their loyalty may fall to the Targaryens, if history is any guide."

"We will speak more on it later. And the other kingdoms?"

"Robin Arryn still rules at the Eyrie, but his knights have joined up with the Northern kingdom, under Yohn Royce. Storm's End is silent, and the Riverlands are a mess."

"The Riverlands…" Cersei's lip curled. "Any word on…" she could not bring herself to say it. The subject made her feel sick inside.

Qyburn's face twisted in knowing uncertainty. "…Ser Jaime…has been spotted at Riverrun, gathering forces to him to march north."

A wave of emotions swept through Cersei. She stood up suddenly. "It makes no matter," she said sharply. "With the realm in such a mess, the crannogmen will not know what side he is on. They will bleed him if he tries to traverse the Neck."

She began walking to the window of the chamber, looking out over the castle walls.

"Your Grace, I would not…" Qyburn began. 

"Leave me," Cersei commanded. "Now."

Qyburn nodded his head in consent and departed the room. Cersei reached the window and looked out on her city, on her kingdom.

Outside the walls, thousands of people were shouting up at the Red Keep, throwing rocks and fruit and shit. The gold cloaks were holding back the crowd, killing some people with spears. Cersei swallowed, remembering how they had clapped and cheered when Euron Greyjoy had brought the hostages to Kings Landing. Briefly, she wondered what had become of Ellaria Sand down in those dungeons.

The support of the smallfolk had long been drained out since the Iron Fleet had left the harbor. Cersei had never thought she cared about that, but she found herself feeling…odd. She wanted the Fleet to come back, not just to gain her new army…but to win these people back again.

 _Why are they so insistent on hating the Lannister regime?_ Cersei thought angrily. _They've done it from the very start, ever since Joffrey took the throne. No matter how we temporarily win their support, they always return to this state._ It was so frustrating. No matter what she did, everyone was always betraying her, allying against her, fighting her…

She thought of Jaime, going to fight the army of the dead to the far north instead of fighting for her, and for the first time, Cersei Lannister felt _alone._

…

Yara awoke with a start, feeling the swaying of the ship under her. The cage was briny and smelled so bad that she could barely breathe. Not even sleep had provided respite; her dreams had been filled with the smell too.

The crusty ironman guarding her suddenly stepped aside, and a face appeared from the darkness on the other side of the bars, holding a torch. It was not a face Yara was pleased to see.

"Uncle," she croaked, her voice dripping with hate.

"Dear niece," he responded, a ghost of a smile on his face. "It appears I have another need for you besides the pleasures of my men."

Two more of his silent sailors appeared next to him, holding something covered in a white sheet.

"Now we are bound for Volantis, you see," Euron explained. "The Golden Company is waiting for us there. And luckily, there is some business in Volantis I've been meaning to attend to for some time."

The sailors lifted the sheet off, revealing a shining spherical object. To Yara, it seemed to be made of glass, but if she looked closely, the light from the torch danced off the surface in a strange way, as if the glass was swallowing up the flames.

"I have no wish to participate in your games of sorcery, uncle," Yara spat.

Euron laughed. "This? This is no game, Yara. I sailed to the end of the world to find this treasure, and only at the Red Temple can I find the key to unlock it."

"The Red Temple…in Volantis," Yara muttered in disbelief.

Euron kept laughing. "You see, niece…I don't just need a key to unlock this treasure. I also need a sacrifice."

…

Melisandre pulled her hood off and looked up, taking in her long-lost home with her eyes for the first time in many years.

R'hllor's temple was as grand and dominant as ever, with thousands of shades of red and yellow and gold and orange melding into the walls and rippling in the daytime sun. Outside, the Fiery Hand stood vigilant. Melisandre did not fear the slave army; they would recognize her.

Inside, Melisandre made her way down the grand hall, passing the pillars and murals and statues. The room was alive with light from torches and firepits. Fire was always burning in the Red Temple; the fire could never go out.

Waiting at the end of the room for her was the High Priestess, Kinvara. She was dressed identically to Melisandre herself, down to the Asshai'i necklace that adorned both of their necks.

"Melisandre," Kinvara said.

"High Priestess," Melisandre returned the greeting.

"You've been in the Sunset Kingdoms for some time," Kinvara said, stepping slowly down the steps towards Melisandre. "Even though you completed your task long ago…to convert the king's brother to our faith."

Melisandre nodded. "If only Thoros of Myr could have done the same for the king himself…as you well know, Westeros has been mired in war for some time. I'm afraid I was delayed thanks to this."

Kinvara tilted her head to the side, smiling. "Delayed…due to your belief in finding the Lord's Chosen? In order to convert Stannis Baratheon, you had to make him believe he was the Prince that was Promised. You lied."

Melisandre swallowed nervously, and took a step back. "I didn't lie. I was wrong…"

"Then you're an even bigger fool than I took you for, Melisandre," Kinvara drawled, her former politeness gone. "In the meantime, you managed to get yourself banished by the King in the North."

"It makes no matter," Melisandre said quickly. "The Promised _is_ in Westeros, at this very moment. And you know her as well as I."

Kinvara nodded. "Now you've begun to understand. I know you haven't been sitting around doing nothing in the Seven Kingdoms, Melisandre. You know what's coming soon."

A wind rushed throughout the hall, and all the flames burned brighter for a moment. Goosebumps covered Melisandre's skin. "The second war for the dawn," she whispered. "The second attack of the Great Other."

Kinvara's eyes were alight. "He has broken the ancient barrier of ice. He marches on the armies of the living, at the winter castle. There will be a great battle soon enough, and the fate of the world will be decided."

Melisandre returned the energy level. "My last act before returning here was bringing ice and fire together. The King in the North, Jon Snow, who the Lord of Light brought back for a reason yet unknown to me."

The High Priestess smiled again. "A bold move, and the correct one. Jon Snow does have a part to play yet, I am sure. Everything is coming together now. But…the followers of R'hllor cannot do much while we sit on the wrong side of the narrow sea."

Melisandre's eyes widened. "You mean to sail across, and join the fight."

Kinvara nodded. "And as it happens, we have a fleet of suitable size heading to Volantis at this very moment."


	4. Chapter 4

Jon walked into the room that used to be his father's solar, and glanced over at Daenerys next to him. She was very pale; her face was drawn and somber.

"Winterfell is very nice, Jon," she said quietly, not meeting his eyes.

Jon frowned. "If you're not feeling up to it right now, we can give them the news later…"

Daenerys shook her head hard at this, and Jon raised his eyebrows, startled. "I've been through worse than this," she said firmly, a steely glint in her eyes. "I've lost worse than this. I'm going to fight through it. Just as you said, Jon, the Night King will _pay_ for what he's done."

Jon nodded, but he was still a little worried. The way she had reacted to the news of her dragon being turned into a wight…it didn't line up with the Daenerys he was looking at now. He sensed she was bottling her feelings up, more than anything.

 _Ugh._ Jon shook his head as the two of them moved to the far end of the room to let the others in. _What is love doing to me? I can't stop worrying about her…she's a conqueror, she's done amazing, dangerous things and been through just as much as me. She can take care of herself._

And then he turned, and faced his siblings. Sansa stood behind Bran's wheelchair, holding the back of it in an almost protective manner. Davos and Tyrion had moved to the sides, already knowing the news themselves. Brienne of Tarth stood behind Sansa. Jon stared at the woman, and she suddenly looked sheepish.

"Your Grace, if you wish it, I will…" she began. "No," Jon interrupted. "You can stay, Brienne. I trust you. Lock the door."

She turned around and did so, while Bran looked at his half-brother…sorry, cousin…expectedly. _This could be my chance to tell him,_ Bran thought. _It's a shame Sam isn't with us. I will have to find him after._

Jon didn't fail to notice Bran's gaze, and shifted uncomfortably before beginning. "Where's Arya?"

Sansa frowned. "No clue. Can you tell her later, or would she have to be here?"

Jon sighed. "I suppose I can tell her later…somehow, I have a feeling she wouldn't like it."

"What?" Sansa raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't like what?"

Davos looked nervous, while Tyrion stared at the ground. Daenerys spoke up.

"My alliance with your brother is not just a political one. We're going to be married."

"We're in love, you see," Jon explained, forcing the words out of his mouth.

Brienne's eyes widened, and Sansa made a noise of surprise, her eyes darting back and forth between them. Bran, however, did not look surprised in the slightest. Instead, he seemed almost…irritated? Disappointed? Jon's embarrassment gave way to confusion.

Sansa was at loss for coherent words. "You…you…and her…"

"You two knew about this?" Brienne looked pointedly at the two Hands in the room. Davos shrugged sheepishly. "Knew? Yes, you could call it knowing," said Tyrion. "Do I approve? No, not particularly. But I'm only the Hand of the Queen after all. Hands aren't for listening to counsel, every great ruler knows that."

Davos laughed, but Daenerys shot Tyrion a glare. "Only a jest, my queen," Tyrion said softly.

Sansa felt a smile creeping to her face. "This is…this is wonderful!" she exclaimed, almost feeling like her younger self again, still obsessed with knights and stories and falling in love. "I'm so happy for you two!" Without thinking too much, she walked over to Daenerys and took the dragon's queens hands in her own. Daenerys started, but then found herself smiling as well. "Yes," she said to Sansa. "I'd be glad to be a part of your family."

Bran didn't share the celebration. "How will it work?" he asked Jon, his voice level and his gaze unfaltering. "You're King in the North, and she is contending for the Iron Throne. Do you plan to reintegrate the North into the Seven Kingdoms?"

"Erm…eventually," Jon said, feeling very uncomfortable with his younger brother's behavior. _This is not the Bran I knew,_ he thought. "The idea is once Daenerys and I…well…have an heir, he…"

"Or she," Daenerys interrupted.

"Right, or she…will be accepted as a legitimate ruler of both the North and the South, by all the people of the North and the South. Since they would be the child of both of us. The kingdoms will be ruled separately by Daenerys and I until our child comes of age, or until we die."

"This was all my idea, by the way," Tyrion tossed in.

Bran had no words for this, but he did go, "Hmm." Jon felt very unsettled.

"With respect, Your Grace," Brienne began. "Aren't we being presumptuous here? The whole point of going to Kings Landing was to make an alliance with Cersei, who is already sitting on the Iron Throne. It sounds like you're planning to betray her."

"It would no less than what's she's done to us ten times over," Sansa said reflexively, her mood suddenly worsening.

Jon scratched his head, and glanced at Dany. "I…well…"

"And that's even assuming we don't all get killed by the white walkers," Tyrion put in.

Dany huffed. "Isn't that the whole point of this alliance? So we can destroy the white walkers? Our marriage can only strengthen the bond between my forces and these Northern forces. You would have suggested a political marriage anyway, Tyrion. Everyone would have suggested it. But because it's for _love,_ along with the political benefits, you disapprove."

Tyrion opened his mouth, as if to make a retort, and then closed it. He couldn't think of anything to say, because he didn't actually know what to think. Was that really the reason he disapproved? He searched his mind, for something…anything, but there was no cohesive thought. Only a distant barrier of worry, and horror.

"I think we can disperse for now," Jon said, sensing the tension in the room. "Thank you, Sansa, for giving us your blessing."

Sansa nodded, not feeling all so great as she had before, and turned to roll Bran out of the room. Brienne and Davos were already going. Then she felt a tug on her sleeve.

It was Tyrion Lannister. "Sansa…" he began. "I wanted to speak to you, about…some things…" _Ah, I botched that. My big mouth only seems to come to me when I don't need it, and when I do, it takes its leave._

Sansa briefly looked surprised, and then her face turned cold. "That's quite alright, my lord," she said brusquely. "No need to trouble yourself." Then she turned, and rolled her brother out of the room.

Tyrion stood there silently, regretful, as Jon and Daenerys walked past, out of the solar.

Jon walked across the roofed balcony of Winterfell, looking down into the courtyard forlornly. Bran's reaction had been nothing like he had expected…in fact, Bran himself was nothing like Jon had expected. Dany sensed something was bothering him, but she said nothing. She was in no place to pry about someone else's inner demons. _Why, why is it like this?_ Dany thought. _We're supposedly in "love", yet we won't even speak to one another about these things._

Then Jon saw someone standing up ahead next to Sansa and Bran, and his heart soared.

Arya looked at the brother she'd missed for so long, and six years rushed through her mind, going backwards. Killing Littlefinger, destroying House Frey, leaving Braavos, learning the ways of the Faceless Men…and then the memories returned to Westeros. The Hound. The Brotherhood without Banners. Gendry and Hot Pie. Harrenhal. Kings Landing…losing Nymeria on the Trident, and finally Winterfell, when Jon had first given her Needle.

Arya ran across the balcony, and jumped into her brother's arms, crying for the first time in years. Jon staggered backward as he reciprocated the hug, speechless for a moment. Sansa and Davos laughed, and Daenerys took a step backward, letting out a giggle. Bran watched with a slight smile.

Jon found himself instinctively reaching down to muss up Arya's hair, as she broke the hug off. "Hey, quit it!" she said defensively, batting his arm away. "You may be a king or whatever, but you're not getting away with that!"

Daenerys raised her eyebrows, and Arya noticed her for the first time. "You must be Daenerys Targaryen, my brother's future wife," Arya said. "I'm Arya." She extended her hand for a handshake, and then quickly retracted it. "Sorry, am I meant to bow? Gods, where have my manners gone?"

Daenerys was laughing heartily now. "Hello, Arya," she said, smiling. "It's very nice to meet you."

Arya nodded and looked back at Jon. "You've changed, I think," she said, biting her lip. "You got bigger."

Jon looked her up and down, grinning. "I…don't think you got much bigger at all, actually."

Arya punched him in the arm. "I did too!"

Sansa laughed again, watching the scene. "It's good to see everyone acting…like they used to," she said, meaning to aim the comment at her brother in the wheelchair. Bran didn't respond, and then Sansa was reminded of one particular person not acting at all like they used to. Her smile faded.

Jon was laughing along with his sister, but in truth she had changed quite a bit. She was in soldier's clothes, and her hair was tied up in the same way Lord Eddard's had been, back in the day. She still wore the sword he had given her at her hip.

Arya noticed him looking at Needle. "Yep, still got it," she said proudly. "Well, I lost it for a bit, but then I got it again…not really important. Well, I guess it is. I have so much to tell you…"

"Jon?" It was another voice, coming up the steps. Jon turned and saw his old friend from the Night's Watch, Samwell Tarly.

"Sam!" He walked over, and the two of them hugged. As Jon looked over Sam's shoulder, he noticed Gilly standing behind him nervously, with her toddler son walking around her feet.

"Gilly," Jon said, acknowledging her. She simply smiled back, probably unsure of how to react to all this.

"I've found out quite a bit, Jon," Sam said. "About the white walkers…and other…things." He made a face, and then looked past Jon towards the others.

Bran returned the gaze knowingly.

Sam glanced over at Daenerys. "Oh, gods, I forget myself." He bent the knee. "Your Grace."

"Rise," Daenerys said gently. "Who might you be? You wear the blacks of the Night's Watch."

"This is Samwell Tarly," Jon explained. "An old friend of mine, from the Watch."

At the word 'Tarly', Dany's face paled. _Wait, he...I…_

 _He doesn't know. He doesn't know I burned his family._ Daenerys forced herself to smile, and say, "Well met, Sam Tarly."

The day had brought joy, but there had been an undercurrent of worry and anxiety, as all the new allies found themselves in some complicated situations…

…

Tyrion realized his stunted little legs were taking him past the Winterfell godswood, and he kept moving. He had seen something from the castle walls, something slightly amusing.

Up ahead, looking quite out of place in the blankets of white snow, stood Varys, looking down at a gravestone. "It's a bit cold out here," Tyrion called to the Spider. "You'll catch a freeze in those billowing robes of yours."

"Perhaps," came the whispery answer. Varys was deep in thought.

Tyrion joined the eunuch at his side, and stared at the gravestone. There were words engraved into it. "HERE LIES PETYR BAELISH," Tyrion read aloud, "WHO DANCED TOO CLOSELY WITH WOLVES." He swallowed. "The northerners have more humor than I initially thought."

"He was my greatest enemy for years, did you know?" Varys said. "My greatest opponent. I enjoyed his presence immensely, of course. And then he came north, out of some twisted…love? Who knows? And he died. Lord Eddard Stark came south as a man of honor and died, but here it was the reverse. And now…I've come north." The eunuch's face was tight, and he shivered, but Tyrion did not think it was from the biting wind.

"Are you saying the north is only meant for people of honor, and the south is meant for schemers?" Tyrion asked. "As a southron, you wound me greatly, Varys."

Varys didn't react to the jape. "Cold things have broken through the wall," he murmured. "They are coming for us here. The war for the entire world will be upon us, soon enough. This is no place for me. I don't belong here. My network of little birds is broken; they've all gone silent. There is nothing I can do anymore."

Tyrion, for the first time, felt a rush of pity for the man. "Yes…" he said slowly. "We will be in a war soon. Against enemies we haven't fought in thousands of years…enemies more powerful than anything we've ever faced. And you know why we're fighting? To survive. That's what you can do, Varys. You can survive, and after surviving, you could…we ALL could maybe even live."


	5. Chapter 5

Jorah Mormont found himself roaming the walls of Winterfell, for lack of anything better to do. There were no new orders from the _khaleesi,_ and he couldn't go to the camps and face the other northmen. They still thought the worse of him, he was sure of it.

 _Maybe I will go to the Unsullied or the Dothraki camp,_ he was thinking, when suddenly Ser Davos Seaworth appeared next to him.

"Awfully cold out here, isn't it?" Ser Davos said conversationally, giving a little shiver.

Jorah looked the Onion Knight up and down slowly, wary. "Yes."

They looked out over the wall, at the camps of northmen. "The Cerwyns and Glovers are leaving," Davos observed. "To defend their own castles."

"And yet the Umbers and Karstarks, the two most prominent Houses with land between here and the Wall, have not gone back, even though the dead march on their territory," Jorah mused.

"Ah, that would be because the current leaders of those Houses are mere children," Davos said. "Ned Umber and Alys Karstark. They'd rather stick with Jon."

Even as they stood there, the camps seemed to be moving and shrinking, as several thousand men departed for home. They had been camped at Winterfell for over a year, but now that they were truly needed, they were leaving. Davos found that incredibly frustrating, but he had other things to worry about.

"Ser Jorah," he said, gaining the attention of the other man. "There is another House here at Winterfell under the leadership of a child. Yours."

Jorah swallowed. It was true; his father had been betrayed by his own men in a mutiny north of the Wall, and the rest of his family had died at the Red Wedding. Only little Lyanna was alive…a girl he hadn't seen since she was a babe.

"She wouldn't remember me," Jorah said slowly, mostly to himself. "She would have only heard tales of what I did. She doesn't want to see me."

"Actually, I do." Davos moved aside, and revealed the voice who spoke, Lyanna Mormont herself.

Jorah breathed in sharply, and took a step back, the cold wind biting into his face. Lyanna was wrapped tightly in layers of fur, but it was definitely her all the same.

Davos smiled, and walked away, leaving the cousins alone.

"Erm…" Jorah didn't quite know what to say. Lyanna's face was neutral.

"So, you serve the Targaryen queen now, then?" the girl asked boldly. Jorah nodded.

Lyanna's face twisted grimly. "She thinks too highly of herself. I can tell. But, you must be very loyal to her, to have stuck through all those years."

Jorah felt the heat of anger rush to his face. "She's been through more than you could ever imagine in _all those years,_ and I saw all of it with my own eyes. I'd say she's earned the right to think highly of herself." _What am I doing, getting defensive with this little girl?_

Lyanna, surprisingly, smiled. "I'm glad you found your place, then, cousin. Since it clearly wasn't the north."

"I don't have regrets," Jorah blurted, without thinking. "About any of it. I'm glad my path led to her, and I will continue to serve her."

Lyanna's eyes narrowed. "I have a great many regrets. I've been left to rule our island, while my whole family died for a northern cause. Tell me, how is it that you're the one that's left, when you were fighting for a different cause?"

Jorah's mouth opened, and then closed. He wasn't sure what to say to that.

Lyanna waved her hand. "Ah, I suppose it doesn't matter. You fought, that's what counts. You did things that led to your exile, and I don't forgive those things. But you also helped that queen fulfill her goal, and I won't discount that. The good doesn't wash out the bad, and the bad doesn't wash out the good. All that matters is that…you're here."

It was Jorah's turn to smile. "That sounds like something you learned from Jon Snow."

"It might've been," Lyanna replied haughtily, but she was smiling too underneath.

"So…" Jorah asked, "How's home?"

"Your Grace," Brienne said respectively, handing Jon a blunt training sword.

Arya scoffed. "That won't be fair at all," she said. "Use your real sword. The Valyrian one."

"It's called Longclaw," Jon replied, "and no." _What did she mean by 'it won't be fair'? It won't be fair to me?_ He gave Brienne a look of confusion, and she smiled back knowingly.

Up on the balcony, Sansa, Bran, and Samwell all watched the spectacle down in the courtyard, as the King in the North prepared to spar with his little sister.

"This is for the best," Jon said, holding the training blade with both hands and getting into a fighting stance.

"You'll wish you'd agreed to use that real sword," Arya said.

Then she smirked, and drew Needle.

Jon took a slow step to the left, eyeing his sister closely. She was in her water dancer's pose, sideface with her right arm behind her back and Needle in her left. Arya matched his steps, moving slowly and carefully as they circled each other.

Then, to Jon's shock, Arya darted forward, twirling Needle up and across the air, poking him in his shoulder, arm, and hip all within one second. He brought his own blade up to meet hers, and they clashed once, twice. Jon swung forward, but Arya was spinning away, lighter on her feet than a rabbit. She brought Needle back round to her previous stance with a final twirl, and shifted back into the water dancer's pose, as if the entire engagement had never happened.

Jon relaxed for a moment, completely shocked at what he'd just seen, or more precisely, what he'd barely just seen, because she was moving too fast to get a good look. "Wha…Arya…"

Brienne chuckled from the side of the courtyard, and Arya smirked again. "You shouldn't lower your defenses!" she exclaimed, and then she was darting towards him again, spinning past and around him, glancing Needle off his sides and back several times before he caught up.

But Jon could be quick too. As Arya spun for another poke at his hip, he caught Needle low and close, and pushed her back. This time, he went on the offensive hard, spinning and cutting with long-learnt precision. Arya's defense became a headlong flight backward as Needle failed against the weightier training sword in such a direct engagement.

It culminated with Jon bonking Arya on the head with his sword, not so hard as to do any real damage, but hard enough. "YOWWW!" Arya yelped in pain as she staggered back, shaking her head hard.

From the balcony, Sansa allowed herself to laugh. Jon and Arya were laughing too, but it wasn't over.

They circled each other again. "I don't know where you learned all this, Arya," Jon said as they stepped closer. "But I've been in more battles than I can count. I know how to adapt to an enemy."

"Oh, I'm an _enemy_ now, am I?" Arya smiled maliciously. "Try adapting to THIS!"

With cat-like speed, Arya spun Needle into a reverse grip and _dove,_ somersaulting towards Jon and sliding right under him. Jon tried to step away and swing downward with the training sword, but all it hit was muddy snow, and stuck there for a second. As Arya rolled past Jon's leg, she slashed it open with Needle, drawing blood and bringing Jon down to one knee.

Sansa gasped, and Brienne's eyes widened. She rushed over to Jon to help him up, but he grabbed the hilt of the training sword that was still stuck in the ground and got himself to his feet, laughing.

Arya turned and faced him, at least having the sense to look sheepish. "I didn't mean to…"

Jon grinned at her. "I'm bleeding! You know it's treason to draw your king's blood? I'll get you back for this, you little…"

" _That_ was funny," came a rasping voice from the shadows.

Jon, Arya, and Brienne all darted around, to look at the person who was coming into the courtyard. Jon leaned back on his sword, and Brienne narrowed her eyes dryly. "Oh, it's you," she said. Arya's face betrayed nothing, as she looked right at Sandor Clegane.

"Yeah," the Hound drawled. "Me."

Arya blinked, her eyebrows arched in a careful expression. "I thought you were dead," she said.

"Well, I decided to be alive for a little longer. Sorry to disappoint, wolf girl. Still interested in killing me? You could probably do it pretty quick, with those fancy fucking moves you just used."

Arya shrugged. "Maybe later."

The two stared each other down, as Sansa rushed down the steps to intervene. Jon was about to open his mouth to speak, when…

The blow of the horn jolted Jon, Arya, Brienne, Sansa, and the Hound, and the entire courtyard seemed to get moving at once. Jon looked up at the hornblower above the gate.

"ARMY! ARMY APPROACHING THE CASTLE!" The horn blew again.

"Ah," Bran said to Sam Tarly. "Our southern allies have arrived."

Jon, Daenerys, Tyrion, Sansa, and Davos all rode out to meet the army of around six thousand men, approaching Winterfell. Sansa rode close behind her brother and Dany, staying away from Tyrion who rode a ways behind. It wasn't that she resented him…at least, she didn't _think_ she resented him. It was just…she wasn't ready to have that conversation just yet. Maybe soon.

Although, considering their new arrivals, things would likely get a bit more complicated for a while.

Riding out ahead of the ranks to meet with them was none other than Jaime Lannister, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, the Kingslayer, the man who had sired the bastards that had occupied the Iron Throne throughout the War of the Five Kings. He was flanked by several Lannister officers, but he was carrying a peace banner instead of a lion banner. All the Lannister men had removed their signature crimson armor in favor of more standard steel, and while there were a few lion banners here and there in the ranks of soldiers, Sansa also saw many _Tully_ banners. The leaping trout of Riverrun was unmistakable.

"Dear brother," Tyrion said as the two parties met, riding forward and dismounting his little pony. Jaime did the same, and they shared a handshake. "It is good to have you fighting for us, truly," said Tyrion with a smile. Meanwhile, Jon, Dany, Sansa, and Davos dismounted their own horses.

"It is good to be here," Jaime replied. "Your Grace, Your Grace," he nodded at Jon and Dany in turn.

"Ser," Jon replied with respect, while Dany narrowed her eyes coolly.

Jaime hesitated, unsure of how to begin. "I…brought my Valyrian sword," he said to Jon carefully. "I hear they can kill white walkers."

"They can," Jon agreed. "More of it is good to have. How many men have you brought?"

Jaime hesitated again. "Six thousand," he finally answered. "The remains of the Tully men, and all of the Lannister forces from the Riverlands."

"Taking all the recognizable features of a Lannister soldier off of all your soldiers was a smart move," Tyrion observed. "It is what I would have done, brother. You're learning, I think. You should probably still set up camp far away from the northmen, though, closer to the Dothraki and Unsullied."

Jaime nodded. "I am not the only one in command of this host, though…" he stepped aside, revealing none other than Edmure Tully, who dismounted from his horse.

Sansa's eyes widened. "Uncle?"

Edmure smiled wearily. "The very same. It has been a long time, Sansa. You were just a babe when I last saw you." He looked over at Jon. "Your Grace," he said, kneeling. "Riverrun is yours, just as it was King Robb's. We are not related by blood, you and I, but I hope…I hope I can do whatever you need of me."

Jon nodded. "Thank you, my lord."

More pleasantries and basic business was exchanged, as the camps for the Lannister and Tully forces were drawn out. Jaime and Edmure rode back to Winterfell with the others.

"Six thousand is not nearly enough, and certainly not the full might of the Iron Throne," Tyrion said to Jaime as they entered the castle. "Some slight of Cersei's, is it?"

Jaime's face went dark. "More than a slight, I'm afraid. There's bad news I have to tell you all."

Dany felt her heart pounding in her head with anger, making the realization. Jon frowned. "Tell us in the Great Hall."

As they arrived in the hall, Arya and Bran were waiting. When Arya saw Tyrion and Jaime walking together, her eyes widened. "You!" she exclaimed, drawing Needle and standing up abruptly.

Jaime took a step back, startled, and Dany's face twitched in amusement. Arya took another step forward, and Jon was about to say something, but…

"Sit down, Arya, and sheathe your blade," Bran said calmly from behind. "We've nothing to fear from Ser Jaime."

Arya, sullenly, relaxed and did so. Jaime looked past her, at the crippled boy in the wheelchair.

Bran had a slight smile on his face, and his deep eyes had an almost daring edge to them. Jaime went pale, and he suddenly had a sickening feeling in his stomach. His eyes moved down to the contraption the boy was sitting in, and he felt the heat of guilt rush to his cheeks.

"That was interesting," Ser Davos said after a passing silence. "So, Ser Jaime, what is this bad news you have for us?"

Jaime looked at all of his delicately forged allies, the grim feeling in his stomach magnifying. "Cersei has betrayed you," he said, the anger rising in him all over again as he thought about it. "She's sent Euron Greyjoy across the narrow sea to pick up the Golden Company instead of marching her forces north to help you like she said she would. Basically, her _idiotic_ plan is to wait and see what happens in this war against the dead, and then she thinks she can just use the Golden Company to sweep over the remains."

A wave of general anger and chatter passed through the room. Jon and Tyrion sighed, while Arya stood up and brought Needle out all over again. "Of _course_ Cersei would do this!" she exclaimed, pacing back and forth, her blood boiling. "I should have gone south and killed her when I had the chance!" She wheeled around on Jon. "I can't believe you ever thought you could negotiate with her! This is all she EVER does!"

"Arya!" Sansa exclaimed. "You have no right, no place to…"

"Jon doesn't know her like I do!" Arya shouted back. "Like _we_ do, Sansa! How could we have not seen this coming?"

"How do we know you're not lying?" Daenerys asked Jaime, watching him closely.

As Jon stepped forward to break up his fighting sisters, Davos interrupted. "Erm…Lady Sansa, Lady Arya? Your brother…"

All eyes in the room returned to the boy in the wheelchair, whose eyes had glazed over completely into a shade of pale blue. His head was leaned slightly back, and he twitched ever so slightly.

"He's having a vision," Daenerys breathed, mystified. "So it is true." Jaime and Edmure watched in silence, their mouths agape.

Shortly after, Bran's head rolled forward, and his pupils returned. "It is true," he announced. "Ser Jaime is not lying. The Iron Fleet is out on the narrow sea, and Cersei announced these plans to Ser Jaime before he departed Kings Landing."

Tyrion looked closely at his brother. _Departed Kings Landing?_ Tyrion could only imagine how that had gone down. Her plan was incredibly stupid, to be sure, so much so that even his warrior-minded brother had seen it. But apparently it had been enough to break him away from her for good, and he had gathered his own forces to come north. _The fear of the dead is making new people of us all._

Arya left the hall in a fuming huff, heading for the forge. She needed to speak to Gendry about something.

"Six thousand men will have to do," Jon said. "It's gotten worse. Bran saw the Wall crumble to pieces, along with all its manned castles. Whoever survived from the Watch and the freefolk are heading here now, but…it's not looking good. The army of the dead is within Westeros."

"They have undead giants, mammoths, spiders…" Bran muttered, just loud enough for everyone to hear. "And the Night King, the ruler of the white walkers, he rides atop an undead dragon that breathes blue fire."

Jaime and Edmure's eyes widened in horror. "But we have three dragons, though, don't we?" Jaime looked pointedly at Daenerys, remembering his conversation with Cersei about the dragons being vulnerable, and how only two had shown up at the Dragonpit meeting. "Don't we?" he repeated.

"Two," Daenerys finally answered miserably. "The Night King's _is_ my third. When we were out capturing the wight that we brought to Kings Landing to show you and Cersei, he took my smallest dragon down with an ice spear, and resurrected it after we escaped."

Edmure shook his head in disbelief. "Dragons, white walkers…this is the end of the world as we know it…"

The leaders dispersed in sullen silence, but Bran remained in the Great Hall. Soon, it would be time to go with Sam and tell Jon the truth, but now he had other business to attend to.

"Bran…" Jaime took a step closer to the wheelchair, nervous.

Bran did not reply. They were the only two in the room, and Jaime was growing more uncomfortable with each passing second. "I…I don't even know what to say."

"That's perfectly alright," Bran replied, in his breathy, distant voice. "It's been seven years. I've long gotten used to living like this."

"But…I _ruined_ you," Jaime protested. "I ruined your life, and I started this whole conflict between our families, just because of my sins with my sist…"

"Littlefinger started that conflict," Bran interrupted. "Do you know what happened to me because you pushed me out of that tower, Ser Jaime? I was crippled, yes. But I began having dreams. I had dreams that led me to a place to the far north, where I fulfilled my destiny. And now I can see everything. I have powers that little boy who climbed these walls and wanted to be a knight could have never dreamed of." For the first time, Bran looked up, and met the Kingslayer's eyes with his own. "And I've seen what you've gone through as well." He looked at the man's golden right hand, limp by his side. "You went on a journey, Ser Jaime. Just like I did. And we both came out as different people. So why should we worry about what happened to those other people, since we aren't them anymore?"


	6. Chapter 6

As Jon and Dany returned to the solar, she brought up her worry.

"If Cersei truly has betrayed us, then maybe a better course of action would be to strike south now, and try to win the rest of the Vale to our cause, maybe even Dorne and the Reach again…"

"No," Jon broke in. "We've come all this way, and the Night King is almost upon us. I mean to send the smallfolk south, though." A large number of the northern population had moved into the winter town, flanked by the camps of the northern and Dothraki armies. Grey Worm and Davos were in charge down there, making sure there were no crimes being committed by any party to any other. Soon, however, all the smallfolk would have to march down the kingsroad for the safety of warmer lands…

They reached the solar, and Daenerys sighed. "What if we don't have enough? The southron houses have little love for Cersei, and if we add their strength to ours, we have a better chance of ending this war quickly, before more people are turned into corpses…"

"You don't understand, do you?" Jon broke in irritably, sitting down in Lord Eddard Stark's seat. "I will not abandon Winterfell. I…I _cannot_ abandon Winterfell. My ancestor's statues and memories are buried in the crypts here. The hot springs are here, and the old godswood with the heart tree. The White Walkers may have already taken Last Hearth, or Karhold…but they will not have this castle as long as I draw breath. As long as my sisters, and my brother draw breath."

Daenerys didn't know what to say, but luckily, a knock on the door broke them out of the discussion.

"Your Grace? It's me, it's Sam."

Jon's face relaxed. "Come in."

Tarly obliged, but as he did so, Jon's eyes fell to the wheelchair that Sam was pushing. His little brother stared back at him with cold, distant eyes, as if he was looking at a well-threaded tapestry. In Bran's lap was a sheathed greatsword, which Sam promptly picked up.

"I have a few things that may come in handy, Jo…Your Grace," Sam stammered.

"Jon will do fine. We are still brothers, you and I."

Daenerys stepped back from the conversation and chose to look upon Jon's little brother, the one who had the visions. He was a curious one, to be sure. His gaze and demeanor reminded her of Quaithe, the mysterious Asshai'i woman she had met in Qarth.

"…various books on the White Walkers," Samwell Tarly was saying, "As well as my family's Valyrian sword, Heartsbane."

Jon drew the sword from the sheath, its deadly steel glinting in the white snowlight coming from the window. "A fine blade," he commented. "But you are not the man to wield it, Sam." There was pity in his voice, Sam noted.

"Well, there are many great warriors here," said Sam. "I'm sure you could find someone suitable. I'm no Tarly in truth, not anymore, so the sword isn't mine anyways. I stole it from Horn Hill, after all. I just don't want Valyrian steel going to waste."

Jon nodded, agreeing. "This makes four swords we have, and one dagger. The dragonglass arrows and spearheads number around a thousand now, and more are being made every day from the glass we mined under your island." He nodded at Dany as he said it.

Dany, meanwhile, was too busy thinking about Sam's comment. _I'm no Tarly in truth, not anymore._ Did that mean he had no care for his family? For a moment, she hoped it so. _No. I'm a fool. A selfish, vain fool. How can I worry about myself, and my standing with this man, when I burned his entire family? I am a queen, I must act like it._ When she closed her eyes, she saw Drogon burning Tarly and his son all over again, only the fire was blue, and Drogon was Viserion, pale and rotting, with the Night King atop his back.

The door to the solar was closed, Bran knew. No one would disturb them. He nodded at Sam; it was time.

Sam looked back at Jon, and then closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. For an instant, all his fear, worry, and cowardice left him, and his voice became steely as he began. "Jon," Sam said. "There is another matter Bran and I need to discuss with you." It would not be good to have the queen here as well, especially with how…complicated this would make things. But the army of the dead was almost here. There would be no other chance.

Jon raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

Sam took another deep breath. "It concerns your…it concerns Lyanna Stark, and Rhaegar Targaryen. At the Citadel, I had to transcribe the diary of the man that was High Septon during the last years of the Ma… _King Aerys's_ reign."

Daenerys noted the man's stumble of words. It had been done so she would not take offense, but how could she get mad at Samwell Tarly, after what she had done? _Mad King? Mad Queen…_

"Anyways," Sam continued. "In his diary, the High Septon described how he annulled Rhaegar's marriage to Elia, and that he wed Lyanna and Rhaegar in secret."

Daenerys went stiff, and looked at the man. Where was this going? Jon only kept his eyebrows raised.

"You see," Bran said. "I looked back on that time, through two of my thousand eyes. It is true, without a doubt. And to you, Queen Daenerys," he said, turning to her. "You should rejoice. Your late brother was innocent of the one egregious crime ever owned to him. He did not take my aunt away, lock her in a tower, and rape her until she died. They went away together, because they were in love."

Daenerys found herself believing it. Rhaegar, truly a good man after all these years! "Thank you for telling me," she said.

"Is that all?" Jon asked. "They got married, and then…what?" The idea of his father and King Robert's war being built on a lie was worrisome to him, but Bran had power, there was no doubt about it. And he trusted Sam with his life. They had to be telling it true.

"Jon," Sam said gently. "I don't really know how to tell you…"

"When my father went to the Tower of Joy to rescue my sister, he fought the last of Aerys's Kingsguard," Bran said. "Only he and Howland Reed survived, and when he went up into the tower, he found Lyanna abed and dying…dying because of the baby."

Jon's face twitched, and he looked at his brother. _Wait…_

"Jon," Bran continued. "You are not my half-brother. You're my cousin. You are Aegon the Sixth, the trueborn son of Lyanna and Rhaegar, the heir to the Iron Throne. My father took you as his own to protect you from Robert, who wanted every last Targaryen left in Westeros murdered. That is the truth. Queen Daenerys, months younger than you she may be, but she is your aunt."

Jon stood.

He and Daenerys shared a glance of pure panic and confusion.

He looked back at Sam, who seemed extremely uncomfortable, and Bran, who was looking expectant.

"I…" Jon did not know what to say. "I…I don't want the Iron Throne…"

"It doesn't matter to me," Dany broke in suddenly. "It must be a lie, but even if it is true…I don't care. I still…"

Jon suddenly felt very annoyed. "Why would you tell me this?" he asked angrily, glancing between Bran and Sam. Sam was slowly stepping backwards toward the door. "All you've done is complicate things. How are we supposed to continue with Tyrion's plan like this?"

"Tyrion's plan was never going to work," Bran replied, exasperatingly calm. "Queen Daenerys cannot have children. And you are no longer King in the North. You bent the knee to her. That was the only way to earn her alliance, because she can't fathom the idea of someone else having a stronger claim to Westeros."

Daenerys inhaled sharply, and glared daggers at the crippled boy in the wheelchair. _Who is he to say all that? Does he not know his_ place _?_

"Bran," Sam muttered, feeling the fear bubble up again. "That was ill said." Bran's expression did not change.

Jon felt the heat of anger rise to his ears. "I am still King in the North. Restoring my title was part of Tyrion's plan, and Daenerys agreed to it. I am still king, and you'd do good to remember that, _Bran._ You are not Lord of Winterfell."

"No," Bran said. "I cannot take my birthright, but _you_ can. You were never meant to be King in the North, Aegon. Your kingdom is the whole continent, stretched from the Wall to the Stepstones. If you want any chance of beating the Night King, you have to unite the whole realm under your banner."

"I've heard enough," Jon spat. "Get out of my sight, the both of you."

Sam, reduced to a blubbering, stammering mess, quickly retreated from the solar, leaving Bran behind and the door open.

Bran looked at the way he had gone in annoyance. "I cannot roll the chair myself."

"You are lying about Jon's parentage," Daenerys declared. "I don't know why, but if you think you can use your powers to procure 'facts' out of thin air, then…"

"I know what you did to his family," Bran interrupted, his voice deathly level. Daenerys froze where she stood, and Jon's eyes widened in disbelief.

"I could tell him at any time." Bran's eyebrows had arched, and for the first time, Jon saw him look…angry, malicious. _I do not know this boy._ Dany had no words.

"You are no brother of mine," Jon said in hollow disappointment.

"That's true enough," Bran replied curtly.

Soon, the footfalls could be heard again coming down the hall. Sam was rushing back, now remembering that he had to push Bran's chair. With a brief glance of terror at the king and queen, he took the back of the frame and rolled Brandon Stark away.

…

Much, much later, another horn blast came from the gate. Jon, Davos, Sansa, and Arya all rushed to greet the newcomers. Around twenty or so straggling men, and even less horses, exhausted and wrapped in furs, all caked with white snow.

"Tormund," Jon said in surprise. It had not been who he was expecting. The two of them shared a grim look. "It's fucking bad, Jon Snow," the leader of the freefolk said. "It's worse than you think."

"Beric Dondarrion," Arya called out, in surprise. Sure enough, the man was there, eyepatch and all. He looked at her for a moment, his eyes not recognizing. Then he gave a start, and Arya could tell he knew. "Arya Stark…" the lightning lord coughed. "It's a shame we meet again in these circumstances."

And then Edd Tollett stepped forward. "Fucking hell, Jon," he said, shivering. "You could have at least told me what I was in for."

At any normal time, Jon would have smiled, shaken his brother's hand, maybe even hugged him. It had been nearly two years, after all. But this…this was no normal time. "We already had the tale, from our warg," Jon told Tormund. He didn't want to speak Bran's name aloud. "But I would hear it from your own mouths."

Tormund nodded gravely. "Eastwatch is destroyed. That's where the army broke through. The Night King…he rides on top of that dragon he speared while we were stranded beyond the Wall. He went along the Wall and destroyed the rest of the castles. Castle Black, the Shadow Tower..."

"We're the only ones left," Beric Dondarrion put forward. "The _only_ ones. Everywhere north of here, from sea to sea, is complete whiteout. There are no people left. Only corpses. The Night King seems to have spread his forces out somewhat, taking out any people and castles along the shores, but they are narrowing back in, and heading straight for Winterfell."

"Seven bloody hells," Edd said. "Nearly a thousand Lord Commanders before me, and of course I'm the one that sees the fucking Wall toppled over. When they write the history of what happened, I'll be blamed, just you wait."

Jon knew what he had to do.

He turned to Davos and Sansa. "Gather the northern lords and their best men, as well as the Knights of the Vale. Find Daenerys, tell her to bring her horselords and the Unsullied commanders as well."

Jaime Lannister appeared nearby. "Would you have my knights as well, Your Grace?"

"Yes," Jon replied. "And Tully's."

As the best of every army and host that had come to Winterfell poured into the courtyard, Jon went to the high balcony, running through the words in his head. The Night King was coming. Everywhere between the Wall and Winterfell had already been taken. Jon's frustration at his brother, or cousin, or whatever he was, and the frustration of all the politics and intrigue he had suffered for so many years boiled over as he watched all the people arrive in, and look up at him expectantly.

Without warning, the sound of flapping wings came from behind them, and Drogon appeared on top of the wall of the First Keep, roaring to the whole castle as he landed. Daenerys was on his back, and as she came into view, the Dothraki in the courtyard hollered, while the Unsullied stomped their spears against the mud. Yohn Royce and his Knights of the Vale looked on in awe, while Ser Jaime and the Lannister men shrank back.

Daenerys and Drogon perched on the wall next to Jon, and she smiled nervously down at him. Jon felt a little more nervous with the dragon next to him, but there was no time.

 _So many people are represented here,_ he realized. His northmen. Lord Royce and the Knights of the Vale. Lord Tully and the remaining men from the Riverlands. Jaime Lannister and his men. The Dothraki and the Unsullied from Essos. If Daenerys's war had gone better, they would have the ironborn, Dornish, and the Reach with them as well.

They were all looking up at him. Jon spotted Lyanna Mormont, and surprisingly, Ser Jorah with her. Davos and Tyrion watched from one balcony, while Sansa, Arya, and Brienne watched from another. Gendry had emerged from the forges to watch, and the Hound had joined Tormund, Lord Beric, and Edd Tollett near the gate.

Jon was tired. He was tired of the confusion. He was tired of asking the question, "Who shall sit on the Iron Throne?" and all the reasons for the all the answers to that question. He glanced back at the woman he loved, and the great dragon she rode. Beyond, on the far wall, Sam Tarly and Bran were watching him. _Their delusions be damned. The Night King is coming,_ he thought. _And I am home. There is nothing left but to fight._

"I am thankful to you all for being here," he called, and his voice rang out over the castle. "And I mean _all_ of you. Some of you have fought me, or my kin. Some of you have fought for the north, some have fought for the south. But I say to you, truly, that none of that matters anymore."

Some murmuring and shifting in the crowd. _Many of them still don't believe in the white walkers,_ Jon thought despairingly. But he continued on all the same.

"For seven years, this country has been in constant war and turmoil. You've all seen it. You've all lived it. You've all fought for your own lords, for your own causes. You've fought for glory, you've fought for riches, for raid and pillage. In seven years, great Houses have risen and fallen and died, kings have been crowned and uncrowned, battles have been fought in every corner of the continent. Many of you may hate each other for that. Many of you don't want to fight with the man next to you. But I say to you now, and forever, and I say it truly…"

Jon pointed north, into the deathly white of the snowstorm.

" _That_ way is an enemy that DOES NOT CARE where you came from, or what you fight for. The Night King will slaughter you all, every man, woman, and child. Then he will take your corpses and reanimate them, and you will be another slave in his conquest. Winter will take hold of all of Westeros, and then he will sweep east, and take those lands as well. The White Walkers are the last enemy, the great challenge of man. They waited all this time to strike now because they KNOW we have spent the last decade fighting and killing each other, just to make their job all the easier."

They were all listening now, listening intently, and their blood was rising.

"BUT I DON'T INTEND TO MAKE IT EASY!" Jon shouted, drawing Longclaw out of its sheath, the scream of steel breaking through the courtyard. "DO YOU?"

"NO!" came the resounding shout, from nearly every man present.

"So don't fight for glory! Don't fight for riches! Don't fight for your lord, for whatever promises have been made to you. Don't fight the other men because of past conflicts. Fight for ALL men! Fight for your LIVES! Fight for your lives, and together, we can save the ENTIRE WORLD, AS ONE, SINGLE, ARMY OF THE LIVING!"

"YEAAAAHHHH!" The entire courtyard erupted in screams and cries of battle, of bravery, of victory. "THE KING IN THE NORTH!" the northmen shouted, and Ser Jaime raised his Valyrian steel sword in the air. The Dothraki hooped and hollered, and the Unsullied pounded their spears into the ground over and over, even if they hadn't even understood what Jon was saying. "THE ARMY OF THE LIVING!" Yohn Royce shouted, and Edmure Tully echoed him. "THE ARMY OF THE LIVING!"

Drogon let out a great roar, and it seemed loud enough to fill the entire continent of Westeros.

Jon looked up at Dany, and they exchanged a smile of pure hope. Sansa and Brienne and Tyrion all looked on in ecstatic approval, and Davos began screaming the same as the others. "THE ARMY OF THE LIVING!"

"THE ARMY OF THE LIVING!" Arya echoed, taking Needle out and holding it high above her head.

All over the courtyard, and out in the camps, men from every corner of the world, from every walk of life, took up the chant. "THE ARMY OF THE LIVING! THE ARMY OF THE LIVING! THE ARMY OF THE LIVING!"

-END OF EPISODE 1-


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